Unraveller
by Aces.and.Spades
Summary: Abstergo sends a young woman on a mission to unravel the fate of a missing artifact and the assassin that stole it; but dark secrets and evil plots reveal there's more up Abstergo's sleeves, and she's merely a pawn in their twisted game of cat and mouse.
1. Naomi

**Naomi**

Being kidnapped had been a most curious experience.

Not that I had ever actually _counted_ on being kidnapped, or anything; I'd just always imagined that my kidnapping experience, should I have ever been fated to experience one, would be much like those in the movies: perfectly-paced rock music underlining an intense, complicated action scene in which my kidnappers would rush in, kidnap me, and rush out. Then my hero would sweep in, rescue me, and bring me home, where we would take part in wild love-making, and I would live happily ever after.

Something exciting, anyway.

But, it had most certainly not been _anything _like that.

There wasn't a lot of rushing in, or rushing out. There had not been a hero to sweep in and rescue me, nor were there any letters to my parents demanding such-and-such in exchange for my safety. In fact, there was not a whole lot of _anything_, really.

It had been a cold, rainy Wednesday night. My mother, a NICU nurse at Memorial Hospital, was working the nightshift and had already left for her seven o'clock shift. My father, a private engineer, was on a trip to California after some asshat with a laser pointer accidentally built one of his generators wrong, and he had been summoned to fix it. That left me home alone, reading about cognitive memory for my psychology class with no other company aside from my ginger-colored cockapoo, Sophie.

Taking notes from my Psychology textbook had begun to make me tired, and, knowing that I had long since exceeded my attention span, I decided to just scrap the idea of studying so I could eat a cold manwich over a brand new episode of Family Guy.

At one point in the half-hour cartoon, I had heard some scuffling in the kitchen and yelled at the cat, Willow, who had a habit of jumping onto the kitchen counter to steal table scraps. After the tale-tell _thuh-thunk _of Willow jumping to the floor, I went back to watching my show and munching happily on my food.

It wasn't until I heard rough footsteps behind me that I knew there was something _more_ in the kitchen than just the cat. However, I had only a very brief moment to react before something, most likely some kind of cloth bag or an over-sized beanie, covered my eyes.

I kicked and screamed, but it was useless. Despite my struggling, I felt a pair of large, beefy hands bind my wrists with what felt like those plastic handcuffs that the police were using these days, and fling me effortlessly over a very broad shoulder. I stopped struggling. Whoever it was that had blindfolded me and tied my hands together was very large, and could quite possibly break my skull in half with his pinky finger.

Overall, I was extremely confused. How had it been possible for someone to have gotten in the house without me hearing a thing? Had the television been too loud? Even so, how come Sophie hadn't barked? And what was this black thing over my head?

I heard the front door open and felt the cold January rain against my skin as whoever was carrying me had taken me outside. This prompted more muffled kicking and screaming my part, but, no matter how hard I kicked, or how hard I screamed, my captor continued on undeterred. I heard the front door pull shut and its lock flip, and then I was bouncing on my captor's shoulder as he strolled out into the night.

It just so happened that it was unusually cold that night, even for January; the bitter weather quickly sapped my body of any energy I had between screams, kicks, and attempts to wriggle free. To conserve my energy, I decided to stop my kicking and screaming long enough to wait for my captor to toss me into the trunk of the getaway car. At least in the trunk, I'd be slightly warmer, and it would be easier to make all the noise I could to let any passersby know I was being kidnapped.

But, in the end, I_ wasn't_ thrown into the trunk of a car. Instead, I was tossed into the back seat of one of those old-people-type cars, a Crown Victoria, perhaps. The seats were very large and cushiony, and smelled musty, as though the car had hardly ever been driven. Most interestingly, I recognized Chopin's "Nocturne in G Minor" playing gently on the radio.

Whoever owned the car was most definitely an old geezer.

"Now, now, Mr. James," came an old man's voice. I had been right about the car belonging to an old geezer. The voice instantly reminded me of Scar from Disney's _The Lion King_, "We want our subject to be _comfortable_ _and happy_, not prone to catching a cold. You couldn't have at least grabbed a jacket of some sorts for her?"

Subject? Comfortable? Happy?

I felt the large, beefy hands strap a seatbelt around me, and could have sworn I felt the fingers attempt to brush some_ inappropriate_ places, to which I used my leg to kick in the direction I felt was _appropriate_. The hands didn't return for a while.

One forgets how easy it is to become carsick when all they see is pitch blackness and all they feel is the tossing and turning of a car ride. Time and time again, I had to swallow my nausea as I felt the car weave in and out of traffic, turning in directions I was most certainly not comfortable with, and once, I could have sworn that I felt the car reverse. I felt sick, dizzy, disoriented, and in desperate need of punching the old geezer as he continuously rambled on about subjects, the number seventeen, and "keeping enough changes of clothing in the lab." He was most definitely a scientist of some sorts, I could tell from the eloquent speech and technical terms; of course, the definite "mad scientist" in his voice was a big hint, too.

What would a scientist want to do with me?

I _had_ signed up to participate in an experiment for my psych class a few days before. Perhaps this was a part of it? Quite possibly. But wouldn't they have at least _warned_ me or something, though? Not unless the experiment wouldn't work if they did warn me. I _had_ signed the consent form, after all; they didn't need any more of my permission to do as they please.

But my gasps for air to keep from bringing up my dinner prevented me from telling Mr. Mad Scientist that I no longer wished to participate in his convoluted experiment, so I just allowed them to take me wherever it was that they were taking me. I decided I would just argue, kick, bite, and scream when I got there. According to the American Psychological Association, a researcher was obligated to send me home without an argument should I not wish to continue in an experiment. He was bound by _law_ to obey that rule. With that in mind, I was sure that I would be at home and in bed before my mother got home around 8:30 the next morning.

At the end of what felt like a half-hour drive, the car finally stopped and I had been let out. Mr. McBeefy Hands unstrapped the seatbelt from around me and swung me over his broad shoulder again. This time, I just let him throw me around like a rag doll. As he walked and I bounced on his shoulder, Mr. Mad Scientist continued his incessant blathering about something called the "Animus Mach 6," whatever that was. I could hear a series of what sounded like air-lock doors and a mechanical voices asking for pass codes, followed by a combination of beeps and blips, and finally I was on my feet again.

"You may remove the blindfold now, but not the bindings," Mr. Mad Scientist was chuckling, "Miss Clarendon here is not ready for her bindings to be removed just yet."

Wait, how did he know my name?

I clenched my eyes shut, feeling the black bag over my head uncomfortably ruffle my eyebrows, my eye lashes, and my hair as it was lifted over my head. There was a brief moment when I caught sight of the room around me – I was in some kind of high-tech lab of sorts – before one of those goddamned beefy hands brought a cloth up to my face. I was suddenly overcome with the smell of alcohol as another hand snared the back of my hair, making it impossible for me to remove my face from the cloth.

_Don't breathe it in, don't breathe it in, you'll black out…_

But it's not an easy task to _not_ breathe when you so desperately need to.

The world around me began to spin, and my legs began to feel like Jell-O. Hazy fog veiled over my vision, and I gagged on the bile rising in my throat. Unable to remove my face from the volatile cloth in order to puke, I just swallowed and swayed. Suddenly, the floor was the ceiling, and the ceiling was the floor. Through my foggy vision, I could just barely make out a mop of crazy white hair and a wrinkled face peering at me.

"Careful, careful, Mr. James," stupid, mocking, Mr. Mad Scientist taunted. How I wished I could punch him, "She is going to fall. Be sure to catch her. We don't want any more trauma…"

Mr. McBeefy Hands mumbled something incoherent behind me as I reluctantly fell back into him. I struggled to wriggle from his grasp, but it was futile. My eyelids were feeling unbearably heavy.

"There, there, Miss Clarendon, relax," Mr. Mad Scientist tutted, his voice echoing, "We will be taking very good care of you..."

The words swam viciously in my head, bouncing between in my ears and behind my eyes. My eyelids were growing even heavier; I felt like I had not slept in weeks. I fought for the life of me to keep them open. I was being kidnapped, for Christ's sake! This was no time for sleep!

But I couldn't fight the drowsiness, anymore. My eyes closed, and I felt consciousness drift away from my body.

* * *

My nose itched.

Scratching it wasn't helping. If anything, it was making the itching worse. And not only was my nose itching, but it was also _running_ now. Great. I was getting a cold.

I felt something velvety and warm brush my face, my cheeks, my nose. It was an interesting sensation that was accompanied by the smell of dust, dirt, and hay.

What the hell?

I slowly opened my eyes to find myself staring into the large, whiskery nostrils of an enormous horse. It was licking my face emphatically. Instinctively, I rolled away from the beast, which looked at me with curious brown eyes before flicking its tail and swinging its head down to the ground to munch on hay.

Wait. Hay? Where the hell was I? In some barn of sorts…

But hadn't I been in a lab…?

I quickly felt my back for any signs of incision. Had Mr. Mad Scientist taken my kidneys?

Everything felt in tact, which was a relief, but brought on a new realization: I most definitely wasn't dressed in the lime-green Happy Bunny socks, worn sweatpants, and World of Warcraft t-shirt that I was taken from my home. In fact, I wasn't even wearing_ any_ socks _or_ underwear for that matter, just a simple, grungy dress made out of some kind of uncomfortably stiff material.

What the flying hell?

I looked down at my feet. They felt raw and cracked, and they were caked in sand and dirt. For a moment, it reminded me of all those times that I tracked mud through the house after wading in the creek in my backyard at home. But it had been ages since the last time I had ever gone wading through any creek, why would I have gone wading in any creek at all? Even if I had, _why couldn't I remember it?_

And what the hell was I_ wearing_? Where were my clothes?

At they very least, my toes were still painted the bright pink color I liked. Somehow, I found that small detail somewhat comforting.

I took a moment to look around, fingering the hem of the uncomfortably stiff dress I was wearing.

I was most definitely in a barn of some sorts. The horse that had been trying to eat my face was contentedly munching on hay and flicking its long, ebony tail. From somewhere behind me, I heard the baying of sheep and goats, as well as the incessant clucking of chickens. Had Mr. Mad Scientist taken me out to the country, or something? Why would he do that?

The barn was dimly lit, but I could tell that it was bright outside. The sun shone through a hole in the roof, little dust mites catching in the beam of sunshine, making my nose itch even more. I tried to comfortably adjust the dress around my body, feeling self-conscious knowing I wasn't wearing anything underneath it. Though it wasn't very cold in the barn, it was still rather chilly, and the stiff fabric against my skin wasn't helping the goosebumps at all. I resorted to keeping my arms folded over my chest.

The door to the barn stood slightly ajar, and I carefully stepped over the mounds of hay to peek outside. I hoped I had been dropped off somewhere I recognized. Maybe I could even find the highway and hitch a ride to the police station, or something. Would I need to get a rape kit when they took me to the hospital? I was pretty sure that I didn't have a reason to, but I was probably going to do it anyway.

I pressed my face into the gap in the door and took a look outside. The sudden brightness of the daylight assaulted my eyes, sending spots across my vision and a headache racing to the back of my head. My body swam with dizziness.

…_She may be waking…_

I blinked at the voice. It sounded far away, like a dream voice. Perhaps I was only dreaming?

The spots in my vision slowly melted away, and I could clearly see what stood outside the barn. I saw a large field, and a little stone house in the middle of it. It did not look like any house that I had ever seen before in my life; it was small, with a flat roof, and had been made out of a gray stone. In the far distance, I could see golden-colored mountains along the horizon, their color resembling very much of that of the grass in my front yard in the summertime when it all died. The dull color made the mountains look strangely dead compared to the crisp, clear, blue sky.

Just a field, dead grass, and mountains. Great. Not only had I been kidnapped, drugged, and left in a barn, but I had been left in a barn in middle-of-flipping-nowhere.

I reached up and touched the barn door. It was made out of crudely-cut wood, and felt rough against my fingers. When I pushed it open, the door let out a loud, horrible creak that cut through the silence of the barn like a steak knife through butter, and sent my heart into my throat.

…_Dammit, she needs to relax! She'll disrupt the wave patterns if her consciousness keeps jumping like this!_

"Hello?" I sputtered. My throat was dry, perhaps from breathing in all of the dust and hay. It felt like I hadn't used my voice in ages. I got no response except for the whicker of a horse, and the clucking of the chickens. "Is someone there?"

My vision flashed before my eyes, and I felt my body lurch forward, flinging the door open and crashing it into the wall of the barn. I stumbled out into the sunlight, pain racing up my nose, into my eyes, to my ears and against he back of my skull like Jell-O on glass.

…_I have to pull her out, Warren; she's not looking good…_

This time I ignored the voice and tried to regain my balance. The world began to tip, to turn topsy-turvy, and I choked on a wave of vomit. It splashed onto the ground, coating my legs. The stench made my stomach churn, and I turned away. Just behind me, against the wall of the barn, was a stone trough. The sunlight sparkled off of the surface of the water, and without thinking I stumbled toward it, desperate to wash my legs and be rid of the acid taste in my mouth.

…_You need to relax, Miss Clarendon, stop resisting! Ritchie, what are you doing?_

…_Warren, I need to bring her out, for fuck's sake! Can't you see she's dying?_

The words rolled, lulled in my mind as I scooped the cold water into my mouth and spat it to the ground and splashed the vomit from my legs. It felt good against my skin, even moreso that I was beginning to feel hot; there were beads of sweat dotting my upper lip.

I slumped to the ground and held my head. This was like that time that I had drank way too much tequila during last spring's camping trip in the Appalachian Mountains. What was it that my friend had told me to do? Lie down and let it pass?

My vision flashed. The world grew blurry and slowly began melting away from my vision. I found myself lying down on something warm and comfortable. Whatever it was, it was ever-so-gently vibrating beneath my body. In the distance, I heard cursing and stomping, followed by the unmistakable sound of clicking computer keys. I opened my eyes to see a very clean, very white tiled ceiling above me. My eyes were stinging, as though I had kept them open for too long.

"Naomi."

I blinked. Was that my name? Who knew my name?

It was a male's voice, but was definitely not of Mr. Mad Scientist, nor of Mr. McBeefy Hands. This one sounded young, soft; professional almost.

"Naomi Clarendon. Can you hear me?"

"Yeah," I managed, coughing, "I can hear you fine. But… who are you?"

"Up here, Naomi."

The voice had come from above me. I followed it to find an attractive young man in a white lab coat. He was awfully pale; he obviously didn't get much sun, and had a mop of very curly, soft-looking brown hair, and deep brown eyes. In very much a stark contrast to the chaos that was his hair, he sported a very neatly-trimmed goatee. I frowned up at him.

"Good evening, Naomi." He smiled, giving a slight bow of his head, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, I think..."

"My name is Ritchie," Mr. Mophead said, briefly smiling at me and clicking a few keys on a miniature laptop that he kept on his lap.

I was about to say something to him when I was interrupted by the sound of an air-locking mechanism. From a door in the far corner of the room, the crazy white hair and wrinkled face that I recognized to be Mr. Mad Scientist strolled into the lab, his shoes rapping sharply against the tile floor.

"Ah, Miss Clarendon, I see you are awake. It seems my partner, Mr. Morgan, thought you could use a little mental rest."

"Mental… rest…?" I managed.

"Your body was overloading the cerebral hemispheres in your brain," Ritchie piped up from behind his little computer. I frowned at him, "Basically, your brain was firing too many sporadic messages in too many sporadic directions for your body to handle. Essentially, you were using more portions of your brain at one time than what is normal, and it was causing an overload. It's a very easy way to cause a brain explosion of sorts. Figuratively, of course." he shrugged and went back to tapping away at his laptop.

I blinked, "A brain explosion. How lovely. Will I be all right?" I made to sit up, but Mr. Mad Scientist stepped up to me and leaned over, putting a hand on my forehead.

"You feel a little warm, but you will be fine. Am I right, Mr. Morgan?" Ritchie nodded at the doctor, barely acknowledging that the he had even been spoken to. His fingers kept furiously tapping the keyboard, "Miss Clarendon, have you ever heard of Abstergo Industries?"

"The pharmaceutical company? Of course I have," I glanced briefly at Ritchie and his mop of hair before grinning up at Dr. Vidic, "I take the birth control you guys recently patented… what is it called, again? I forget…"

I heard Ritchie cough once, followed by a soft apology. The forced smile on Dr. Vidic's face flickered, and he cleared his throat, "Excellent, excellent. Then I don't have too much to explain to you. Miss Clarendon, have you ever heard of the Animus Mach 6?"

"No," I shook my head. It sounded like some kind of rocket, or at the very least, some kind of new electrical razor for men.

"Ah, very well. You see, Miss Clarendon, Abstergo Industries isn't just about pharmaceuticals. We're very interested in neurosciences, too," that caught my attention. I was double-majoring in history and psychology at West Harmon University. "Can you tell me what the definition of a memory is, Miss Clarendon?"

Immediately, I thought back to my psychology 101 text, "A period of time covered by the remembrance or recollection of a person and/or a group of persons. Psych 101, Professor Byrnes."

I heard Ritchie laugh quietly from behind his computer. Vidic raised an eyebrow at me.

"Very well, very well. What if I told you…"

"Perhaps you should just cut to the chase, Warren." Ritchie put his computer down and stepped from around the table I was laying on. He gently took my wrist and pulled me into a sitting position. The world spun slightly for a moment before it righted itself, "I'm sure Naomi here really wants to go to sleep. Her exhaustion levels are extremely high, and quite frankly, so are mine."

"What? Who said I'm sleeping _here_?" I began, but my words went ignored as Dr. Vidic glared at Ritchie from beneath a pair of bushy white eyebrows. I sensed that he wanted to have a go at Ritchie, perhaps punch him in the face for being so pushy. However, I also sensed that there was a great deal of respect between the two men, and Dr. Vidic's impeccable hospitality was keeping him from acting on his impulses. In the end, Dr. Vidic tucked a clipboard into the crook of his arm, and Ritchie began digging around in the pockets of his lab coat, quietly muttering to himself about misplacing something.

"Very well," Dr. Vidic cleared his throat, "That was a very nice textbook answer you gave me, Miss Clarendon, but I have research that suggests that memories may just be more than a 'remembrance' or a 'recollection.'"

I cocked an eyebrow at the doctor. Ritchie apparently could not find what he was looking for in his pockets, and patted his lab coat down before glancing at Dr. Vidic.

"Light pen?" he said simply.

Dr. Vidic rolled his eyes slightly and gave a little sigh as he pulled a long, shiny black object from his coat pocket and handed it to Ritchie. I heard it click and a miniature light blinked on at one end.

"More than just a remembrance?" I repeated as Ritchie took my face in one of his hands, prying my left eye open and shining the bright light into it. My vision was immediately assaulted by pink and green spots.

"Exactly. Our research suggests—"

"Wait, wait, you said you're interested in neurosciences? I know what you're going with this. We were discussing this in my psych class last week. Don't tell me you actually _believe_ in that genetic memory crap," I added as Ritchie looked deep into the eye he was shining the light into. I could just barely make out the smallest hint of a smirk on his lips.

Dr. Vidic sounded put off, "Oh, but we do, Miss Clarendon! Very recently, we have uncovered some amazing evidence that shows a great significance in its existence. What do you suppose you saw before you awoke in the Animus Mach 6?"

"That could have very well have been some sort of new virtual reality video," I countered. Deep down, however, I really wasn't sure _what _any of it had been.

Dr. Vidic chuckled, "I promise you, by the end of your next session, we will have proven to you that genetic memory exists. That is, in fact, why you're here."

I tried to glare at Ritchie as he shined the light into my right eye, assaulting the other half of my vision with pink and green spots. It was hard to concentrate on what I wanted to say, "You want me to help you do a study on genetic memory? You want me to experience my ancestors' memories?"

"Something like that, Miss Clarendon. You see, we here at Abstergo Industries are _always_ looking for a brighter future, and a better tomorrow!" Dr. Vidic grinned broadly. Ritchie squinted into my eye, as though noticing something that wasn't normal. But he didn't say anything about it, only tapped on a few keys on his miniature computer. Dr. Vidic continued, "We believe that our ancestors had a… well, for the lack of a better term, an _ingenious_… method of society. An eye for an eye, a hand for a hand. No constant judicial appeals for murderers and child rapists, or wasted taxpayer's dollars on keeping them alive for years and years after their sentencing..."

I considered launching into my speech about the apparent mental illnesses found in said murderers and child rapists, and how those constant appeals were buying our scientists time to study these behaviors in order to find methods of prevention, but I held my tongue. Ritchie had put his miniature computer on the edge of the table I was sitting on, snapped a pair of latex gloves on his hands, and was quickly examining my ears and throat with his light-pen before putting it away and tossing his gloves into a nearby trashcan. He sat back down on his chair, and pulled his computer back into his lap. I wondered what he was taking notes about.

Dr. Vidic stepped up to me; I could almost feel the hem of his lab coat against the top of my feet. It made me feel very uncomfortable that he was standing so close.

"The Animus Mach 6 allows us to extract the memories of our ancestors, so we can simply study society first hand. These experiments have greatly helped sociological and psychological research for the past two years! In the next three… who knows? Imagine a place where a simple node on the forehead could determine whether a man actually committed a crime, or if he was just a simple witness! The judicial system could be that much more efficient—"

"But does any of this really justify your kidnapping me?" I blurted, "Whatever happened to just coming up and _asking_ me to participate in this study?"

Dr. Vidic folded his hands behind his back and began to walk away, "You did sign the consent form, did you not?"

So it _had_ been part of an experiment, after all.

"Consent form or not, Doctor, you still had no right to go into my home and _kidnap me. _A simple phone call and a meeting location would have worked just as well."

Dr. Vidic looked like he was ignoring me. This made my blood boil.

Ritchie loudly tapped on his keyboard a few more times before snapping the mini laptop shut and folding his hands behind his head. He let out a breath.

"If I may make a suggestion, Warren?" he piped up, swiveling his chair. The top buttons of his lab coat were unbuttoned, revealing the distinctive green 1-Up Mushroom from _Super Mario Brothers_ video game on a black shirt he wore underneath it. Dr. Vidic looked at him, forcing a look of interest by rubbing his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"What is it, Mr. Morgan?"

"Perhaps we should let Naomi rest for the night. That way, she can have some time to decide whether or not she still wants to participate in the Animus 6 Project. Should she choose to continue to participate, we will move on from there. Should she not, we will find someone else. There were plenty of other people who were just as qualified as her to perform in the experiment."

"What do you mean, _qualified_?" I interrupted the little strangled noise that Dr. Vidic made through his nose.

Ritchie shrugged, still swiveling his chair, "You were not the only one who signed up for the study. But, you were one of the only ones who met our psychological testing criteria, _and_ had an extensive knowledge of history, which is why we picked you first. You _are_ a double-major in Psychology and World History at West Harmon, right?"

I nodded at him. Dr. Vidic had gone silent. Ritchie blinked casually and folded his hands between his spread legs, twiddling his thumbs, "APA standards, we can't make you participate, as much as we want you to. However…" he looked at his watch, "It's _one in the morning_, and I really would like to catch some Z's before I have to be back here at _eight_."

Dr. Vidic let out a whistling breath through his nose, but nodded, not even trying to mask his disappointment. Nothing could correct that screwed-up expression.

"Very well. Mr. Morgan, please take Miss Clarendon to her provided quarters. Miss Clarendon, you will rest for the night, and make your decision whether to continue to participate in this experiment. In the morning, should you choose not to continue to participate, I will have my bodyguard, Mr. James, escort you home."

I noticed a large man, definitely Mr. McBeefy Hands, standing beside what looked like the door that led out of the lab. A light at the top of the threshold cast the doorway in a weird red glow. I supposed that meant the door was locked. Mr. McBeefy Hands gave a nod my way, but I didn't acknowledge it. Ritchie cleared his throat, making me look at him, and he held a hand out to help me slide off the Animus. As I did so, Dr. Vidic cleared his throat and began toward the door that Mr. McBeefy Hands stood next to.

"See you in the morning, Mr. Morgan, Miss Clarendon."

Ritchie bid him good night, though I could have sworn I heard him call Dr. Vidic a prick under his breath after he did so, and he lead me to a door at the opposite end of the lab. A green light shone in the top of the threshold. Unlocked. That was simple enough. I noticed that there was a second table very similar to the one I had been laying on as we walked through the lab. It looked bigger, bulkier; like an older model, perhaps. Unlike my table, there was a full-sized computer next to it.

"That's the original Animus Project," Ritchie explained as we walked through the unlocked door. It had opened automatically.

"The _original_ Animus Project…?"

"Yes. The original. There are only three Animus Projects in the entire world. We have two of them. You should feel lucky; you're one of the first subjects to try out the new model."

Somehow, that didn't make me feel better.

We walked into a corridor that led to four air-locking doors, two on each side. Three were glowing red; the fourth, green.

"This lab was originally meant to accommodate only one subject at a time," Ritchie began, "It has since been remodeled. The old conference room was taken out so the lab can accommodate up to four. This one is your room. Subject Seventeen is in that one," he pointed to the door furthest down the corridor on the left side. "You will not be seeing him much."

I had been compelled to ask Ritchie where Abstergo now held its meetings to discuss nonsensical psychology, now that it didn't have a conference room, but stopped.

I was_ not_ the only participant here?

"Subject Seventeen? He doesn't have a name?"

"I'm not at liberty to disclose personal information regarding other subjects. Should you be interested in any of their research with Dr. Vidic, I can only tell you what Dr. Vidic will allow me, which is information that is already on public record."

The door automatically opened when I stepped inside, and I took a look around. The room was small, slightly cramped, and came with a single bed, a desk, and a bureau. Much to my discontent, everything was gray and white, making me feel like one of those clones in that movie, _The Island. _A door on the opposite side of the room was left wide open, displaying a toilet and a shower. At least Abstergo had been nice enough to give me a bathroom…

"Subject Seventeen is working with Dr. Vidic on a different Animus Project. Yes, there are more than one Animus projects going on at the current moment. His other assistant, Lucy, handles that case with him." I heard a series of beeps and blips behind me, and turned around. Ritchie was dexterously pushing keys on a box attached to the wall next to the door. A light at the top of the box glowed blinked from green to red.

_He's locking me in here…_

I suppose I wouldn't want me roaming free around the lab either. But still, _locking_ me in? I glared at Ritchie's unusually cheerful demeanor.

"Breakfast will be brought to you at eight, be ready to let us know of your decision at eight-thirty, _sharp_," he said, thrusting his hands in his pockets. "Dr. Vidic likes to get started bright and early. And I hope you decide to participate in this experiment. Have a great night."

"Good night," was all I could offer as I watched him step out the door. Did he _have_ to lock me in here? The door let out the whispering sound of whizzing air, and slid shut behind him, leaving me alone in that horribly strange, gray-white room.


	2. Subject 23

**Subject 23**

At one point, from somewhere in the deepest pits of the night, I heard a scream.

It had sounded far away, like in a dream, or a memory. It hadn't been very loud, but it had been just loud enough to wake me. I sat up and peered anxiously around my cramped room. It was dim, save for the funny bluish-green light that hung over the door to the bathroom. I frowned, trying desperately to hear the scream again.

None came.

I waited a moment longer before lying back down and pulling the stiff white sheets up over my head.

Perhaps it really had been just a dream.

"I'll do it."

Dr. Vidic did not attempt to hide his delight at my answer, and just about looked like he was going to spill his piping-hot coffee on himself when he cheered and thanked me for making the decision to contribute to his research. I tuned out most of his speech on how this research would benefit all of mankind; instead, I focused on his wide grin full of coffee-stained teeth. He reminded me of a crocodile.

"But, I'll do it for a price."

That caught his attention, and his speech was abruptly brought to a halt as the delighted expression vanished from his face. A part of me, the smarter part of me, knew that this was a crocodile talking to me, and not a man. I figured if I told him he had to pay me in order to participate in his experiment, he'd send me home.

He stroked the rim of his coffee mug with the tip of a finger.

"Name your price."

I froze.

I really had not anticipated him to actually_ pay_ me. If anything, I had expected him to be an old scrooge and send me home before putting even a penny in my hand. I had not really wanted to come out and just say no, that I was terrified of his research, because I knew they would attempt to convince me to do it, anyway. I just _couldn't_ say no. My father had always told me I was too nice for my own good, and I could now see what he was saying.

But the idea that he would actually _pay_ me, and he was allowing me to _name the price_, was tempting. I couldn't help but think it was a test of sorts. If I went named too high a price, he would decline and I would be free to go. If I named too low a price, then it would be too late to negotiate.

Or, perhaps he genuinely wasn't a mad scientist bent on world domination, and genuinely did want to pay me to help him with his research. Perhaps his research was _just that important._

If I had to name something, I might as well take the safer route and go as high as I could. I said the first thing that flew to my mind.

"Abstergo pays the final semester of my graduate studies and all my student loans."

"Done."

I blinked. I had _really_ not expected him to accept _that_ price. My legs began to tremble, and I had to sit on the bed to regain my composer. I had just been given a chance to not ever have to worry about being in debt for the next fifteen years of my life, and all I had to do was sit in a table and watch movies. I could do that. To finish graduate school _for free_? Of course I could do that…

"Are you still interested, Miss Clarendon?" Dr. Vidic pried. He was still circling the rim of his coffee mug with his finger.

I glanced up at him, "Oh, yes, of course. I just had not expected you to…"

"Did I not tell you last night, Miss Clarendon, that Abstergo Industries strives for brighter futures and better tomorrows? If that means paying for the education of an up-and-coming psychologist as yourself, then so be it."

The frankness in his voice caught me off guard. Something about his eagerness to pay me thousands of dollars, simply because I had asked him to, did not rub me the right way. He was too eager, too enthusiastic. Perhaps this was dangerous, and he knew I wouldn't make it; then he wouldn't have to pay me.

But he was a scientist, and twice so far, he had told me of Abstergo's attempts at bigger, brighter futures in the exact same manner; he hadn't stumbled at all. That had to mean something, right?

_Only that he's a sleaze ball and is probably lying to you._

I pushed the thought away and stood up to stretch. I couldn't forget the fact that, if I went through with this, I would never have to worry about my college expenses ever again. And I could not pass that up.

"Of course," I nodded at him. "Let's get started."

"Most excellent, most excellent," he turned to the little keypad on the wall by the air-lock door and pressed a series of buttons. I heard the little box beep before a voice came up.

"Yep?"

"Mr. Morgan! It's Dr. Vidic. Miss Clarendon has agreed to participate in our research," he took a slurp of his coffee, and I heard Ritchie mutter a couple of words of encouragement before saying that he would be right there. In a matter of moments, the door to my room slid open and he walked in, holding a folded sheet and a small, flat box between his hands.

"Good morning, Naomi," Ritchie greeted, placing the sheet and the box on the end of my bed.

"Good morning."

"So I hear you're going to participate in our research?"

"You heard right."

"Awesome," he smiled, "Do you remember how we talked about you using too many portions of your brain last night?" He asked. I nodded carefully, "Well, in order to prevent that from happening again, we're going to need you to wear these."

I didn't like the sound of that. He gestured toward the sheet and the box. Confused, I picked them up.

"You will need to wear the choker in the box in order to prevent your brain from using charging too many ions. Each end of the choker is polarized, which should prevent an overload of too many ions in your brain. Think of it like a buffer for radiation."

This was most certainly not a field I was familiar with, but he _sounded_ like he knew what he was talking about. I opened the box. The choker inside was more like a thin metal wire with a large silver ball at either end. It easily fit around my neck comfortably.

What I had thought was a sheet was actually just a standard hospital gown. Luckily for me, it didn't tie in the back, so all I had to do was slip it on over my head. This was a good thing; now I didn't need to worry about Ritchie or Dr. Vidic looking at my ass as I walked around the lab. I changed in the bathroom, leaving my over-sized t-shirt, sweatpants, and socks in a nice, folded pile on the empty countertop. The tile floor was awfully cold beneath my feet, making a shiver of goosebumps race up my spine. As I walked back out into my room, I couldn't help but get the feeling that Ritchie was staring at me when I wasn't looking.

"Right this way," Dr. Vidic beamed at me with his coffee-stained teeth, and gestured through the door leading out into the lab.

Subject Seventeen's door was unlocked as we walked by, but it was closed. I watched the glowing green threshold above the doorway, nearly bumping into the back of Dr. Vidic as he punched in the access code to get into the lab. The door quietly slid open and we continued in.

The lab looked pretty much the same as it had last night, aside from a willowy blond woman tapping away at a computer connected to the original Animus. She wore a pressed white shirt, a black skirt, and a pair of high heels that I knew had to be uncomfortable. A pencil through her hair kept it pulled up into a tight bun. She barely looked at me as I walked by.

A young man was laying on the Animus. He had very, very short dark hair and a very olive complexion. I would have ventured to guess his eyes were brown, but he was they were shut, so I couldn't tell. A flat stretch of fiber glass arched over his face, casting it in a strange blue glow, much like a television when all the lights were out.

"Miss Clarendon, I'd like for you to meet my other assistant, Lucy Stillman. Lucy, this is Subject 23."

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I told myself that it was probably not a good thing that there were six subjects between Subject Seventeen and myself. Where had they all gone? Perhaps _"23_" was just a misnomer. There was probably some kind of patent war going on that I did not know about.

Lucy cast a sideways look at me and nodded, "It's nice to meet you, Subject 23. Naomi, right?" Her tone was soft and light, almost _playful_. I liked her already.

I nodded, smiling at her. She didn't say anything else, just flashed the tiniest hint of a smile at me and went back to tapping away at her computer. Dr. Vidic cleared his throat in a way which sounded like a warning, and Ritchie touch my shoulder. We continued across the lab.

When Dr. Vidic was sure that Ritchie was setting things up, he disappeared behind a computer at the head of the lab. I pointed over to the young man in the Animus, and looked at Ritchie, "What's that over his face?"

"Oh, it's just the memory screen. Think of it like an LCD screen for a laptop, a computer, or television. Only this is a thousand times better, and more realistic-looking. It's what we use to record and the collect the memories."

How odd.

"Will I have one, too?"

"Yeah, you will."

"How does he keep from bumping his head on it?"

Ritchie chuckled at me, "As soon as the memory has ended, it slides away so you can just sit up."

Dr. Vidic walked back over from his computer and handed Ritchie a piece of paper. I couldn't tell what was written on it. Ritchie examined it while Dr. Vidic grinned at me and clapped his hands together, "Now that we have your consent, Miss Clarendon, in which I thank you very much, I will have to explain to you how Animus Mach 6 works, and what you should expect.

"From your DNA, we will be uploading one of your ancestor's memories. The Animus extracts these uploaded memories, and allows you to access them as your ancestor saw them. Did you ever see that movie; oh what was it called… _The Final Cut_, with Robin Williams?"

"The one where the guy makes movies from the memories of people implanted with memory chips?"

"Yes. That one."

"Oh. I get it now. So it's kind of like that?"

"Exactly. You will be seeing the world through your ancestor's eyes. What he or she saw, what he or she did. _Everything_ will be uploaded onto my computer here," he tapped the top of his min-laptop, "And we will go on from there."

This didn't seem too bad. I got to sit down and watch a movie. I could do that. I did it all the time, when I wasn't studying.

"So all I have to do is lie down?"

"Precisely."

"Whose memories am I going to see?"

Dr. Vidic nodded and touched Ritchie's shoulder, "Can you bring up the file on Subject 23?"

Ritchie fumbled with the laptop for a moment before frowning and shrugging, "The file isn't quite cooperating with me. I forgot her name, but she was born somewhere between 1168 or 1169. We don't have a record as to when she died, as it said that she disappeared sometime around… 1193."

I felt all the blood drain from my face and into my feet. There was a prickly sensation in my toes, "You're sending me back_ that far_? You do realize that was almost a thousand years ago, right?"

"Now you see why we needed someone with extensive knowledge in history," Ritchie smiled, "And don't worry, we're not really 'sending' you anywhere. You're just watching memories. You won't get hurt, you're just going to watch a movie, and we're going to watch it here," Ritchie pointed at his computer.

I hesitated, feeling my skin crawl beneath Dr. Vidic's glare. Sighing, I climbed onto the Animus, careful not to hitch up my hospital gown, and laid down.

The Animus was comfortable. It felt like I was laying in a gigantic version of those comfort gels that my dad puts in his dress shoes to keep them from hurting his feet. It buzzed ever-so-gently beneath me, emitting the smallest hint of a vibration. It was very relaxing, very comforting. I had to fight an overwhelming urge to fall asleep, but it was like I had been given a sedative. My eyes shut before I knew that I had even shut them, and I could hear that fiberglass screen arch over my head. I didn't bother with opening my eyes to look at it.

_Can you hear me, Naomi? _

I think it was Ritchie's voice that said it, but I wasn't sure. It sounded so far away, like I was slipping into a dream and it was just bouncing off of the last fragments of consciousness.

"No, I feel tired, though. I thought you said it was supposed to be like watching a movie…"

There was chuckling above me, definitely Ritchie, but there was another sound too. A far, far away sound; tapping. Horse hooves, perhaps, or just an over-exaggeration of Ritchie typing on his laptop.

I forced my eyes open to look back at Ritchie, but my vision was suddenly overwhelmed with swirling white and blue mist. I squinted, and then closed my eyes again, feeling my body relax into the comfortable table beneath me. Everything felt limp, listless, save for a curious pulling sensation at my naval.

* * *

"You!"

I was aware of something poking me harshly in my side and batted at it. If it was Willow trying to tell me she wanted to play with the laser pointer again, she had another thing coming…

Whatever it was continued to poke me, even harsher this time, and I grunted.

"Oi! You! Get up, Peasant!"

"Willow, not now," I grumbled, rolling away from the poking.

Instead of more poking, I was met with the sound of metal sliding against metal, the unmistakable sound of an unsheathing sword. My eyes flew open, and I looked up.

There was a man standing over me, and he was holding a sword to my back. He wore a maroon tunic and a pair of dingy white pants that were tucked into even dingier black boots. On his head, he wore a crudely-shaped helmet. His sword was pointed just between my eyes, and it glinted in the afternoon sun. I gulped. Had I done something wrong?

"A lowly peasant like you should know not to sleep in one of the King's stables!" he snapped. I frowned. I had been sleeping in a royal stable? But it hadn't looked like anything extravagant…

I quickly scrambled to my feet and raked my fingers through my hair. The point of the sword seemed to follow the space between my eyes as I stood. I stared at it. He glared at me.

"I… I'm so sorry, sir, I didn't know…"

"Well you better in move along, or else you will be without any fingers or toes."

I nodded and bolted away from him in the first direction I faced, which lead me away from the sun and up a hill. I wasn't sure as to where I was going, only that I needed to get away from the guard.

I came upon a small village at the top of the hill. It consisted of a bustling market and a handful of gray clay buildings. A couple of horses were lazily grazing on the shriveled desert grasses in a small enclosure, their coats mottled with dirt and dust. A group of children dressed in what looked like nothing more than dingy potato sacks were running around, laughing loudly. I sighed and sat on a bench against the wall of one of the gray building, waiting for something to happen.

And I waited. And waited.

This was supposed to be like a movie, was it not? Wasn't I supposed to sit back like Robin Williams in that movie and watch my ancestor's life unfold through her own eyes? It was what Dr. Vidic had said, and Ritchie had agreed. So why was I sitting in a desert village waiting for my ancestor to move? To speak? To fetch water, or sew a dress? What was supposed to happen? I frowned in the desert sun, feeling the heat bouncing from my scalp, surely leaving scalp burn. Dark hair or not, my scalp was always the first to burn. Perhaps this ancestor, whom I was supposed to 'be,' was where it had all started from.

My time in the Animus was beginning to go from what sounded very exciting to very boring. I took the time to observe my surroundings while I waited for the memory to kick in. In that time, I learned from listening to conversations between merchants and customers that baskets were selling for ridiculously high prices, and that it was probably going to rain soon. From the other side of the village, I heard what sounded like a yelling merchant chasing after a thief. Apparently, thievery was commonplace here. I supposed it was a good thing that I didn't carry anything of value on me while I was in the Animus.

In the corner of my vision, I noticed a man in a white tunic sit next to me, but I did not look at him. Earlier, I had made the mistake of smiling at a man and what looked like his son, and promptly found myself on the receiving end of a fierce game of medieval 20-questions. Why was a woman such as myself alone, where was my husband, and did I have no respect for Allah for smiling at another woman's man and her son? It was a startling experience, but I was not afraid. This was only a memory. Ritchie had said that I could not really be hurt.

"I really need to wake up," I whispered to myself as quietly as possible, "I don't know what I should be looking for."

It was as if the memory heard me say this that something _did _happen. Two guards toting their swords came jogging from around the corner of the building where I sat, panting heavily. I recognized their voices as the guards chasing after the thief. The group of children that had been playing in the small field stopped in mid-game to watch them with interest.

"Dammit, he's gone," the first guard grumbled, looking around venomously.

The other guard threw his hands in the air, "He couldn't have gone far. Let's go this way."

The children waited until the guards were completely gone before continuing their game. There were two boys and a girl. The first boy, who looked around six, was holding onto one of the girl's hands. He pulled her along as they ran from the other boy.

"Not to worry, my princess!" the first boy yelled, pulling the girl behind him and drawing a wooden stick that was tucked into a chord wrapped around his waist, "I'll save you from this fiend!"

"Oh no, you will not!" The second boy yelled back, pulling a stick from a similar chord wrapped around his waist, "I shall steal you from this prince, my lady, and make you my wife!"

"Oh help me! Help me! If this monster makes me his wife, he will surely steal my treasure!" She was waving a small pouch in her free hand.

The boys' stick-fighting did not last long before the 'monster' was mercilessly flung –although it rather much resembled a purposeful dive—right into me. I caught the boy quickly in my arms before he could hit his head on the bench. I felt the man next to me jump slightly under the impact. I could hear his friends yelling "Caib! Caib!" as they began running toward us.

"Hey there," I greeted, smiling at him, trying to seem reassuring. The maternal instincts had kicked in. I adjusted him onto his feet, "Are you all right, little guy?"

"I…I…" He looked at me, stunned, with big brown eyes. Large, glassy tears began to slide down his cheeks and he flung himself to the ground, wailing, "Sorry! Sorry! I did not mean to knock into you! I was not looking, and I just fell! Please, do not whip me!"

I stared, confused. His friends stood behind him, cowering together, both watching for my reaction in anticipation. I quickly slid off of the bench and knelt next to the poor boy, rubbing his back.

"Hey, hey, now. Caib? Is that your name? Caib, listen to me. I'm not mad, and I'm not hurt. It's all right. _Hey!_" I caught his face in my hands, immediately bringing his sobs to a halt, "Caib, look at me. I'm not mad. Stop crying."

He sniffled, "All right."

From behind me, I could hear the man in the white tunic scoff quietly.

I let go of his face and stood up, pulling him to his feet, "Are you all right? Oh, look, you scraped your knee. Let me fix it."

His cowering friends began toward me as I ripped a small portion of my 'dress' away, licked the small scrap of material until it was wet, and wiped at the cut on his knee. He sniffled and repeatedly thanked me as I dabbed the blood away. As he continued to thank me, I realized that he was speaking into me in clear Arabic, and that I had no trouble understanding him. In fact, I was even speaking _back_ to him in Arabic. This confused me at first. I was never taught Arabic. So how would I know how to speak and understand it? Not unless the Animus was translating everything for me...

I smiled at him and tied the scrap of material around his knee.

"There. Good as new."

He smiled and flexed his leg, careful to make sure it was completely working again.

"Thank you."

The little girl spoke to me first, "My name is Naleh," she said proudly. I smiled at her as her friend introduced himself as Kalim.

"Do you want to help us bury Princess Naleh's treasure?" Caib asked, squeezing my hand, "We have to hide it or the King of Thieves will steal it."

"But I thought you were the King of Thieves... weren't you trying to steal the Princess for the treasure?"

Caib shook his head, "Not the _real _King of Thieves. The _real _King of Thieves carries _real _blades," he held up his stick, "These are just made out of wood."

I nodded. It all made sense, I guessed, "Sounds fascinating. What kind of treasure are you burying?"

Naleh held out the little pouch she had been waving around and opened it for me, instructing me to hold my hand out. As I did so, she turned the bag over and dropped what looked like four tiny figurines shaped like animals, and a disc that reminded me of the mirror in a Cover Girl compact foundation kit into my hand. The figurines and the disc looked like they had been cut from some kind of metal, and they were horribly tarnished. I gasped in mock-awe and nodded up at Naleh.

"Of course I'll help bury this magnificent treasure for you!"

The children giggled, and led me over to a large Cyprus tree in the middle of the field, Naleh tugging on one hand and Caib tugging on the other. It was apparent that Kalim was the leader of their group, as he stayed in front of us, his stick no longer a sword but a walking cane.

Just a little while later, Naleh's treasure was buried, and we were walking around the village, enjoying an extra loaf of bread that Kalim's mother couldn't sell in market. The sun was getting ready to set behind the mountains and merchants and traders were packing up their stalls for the night.

"Will we see you tomorrow, Naomi?" Caib asked, touching my hand. I could not help but smile at him; he had insisted in walking next to me and sharing his particular hunk of bread with me, and me _only._ It was a shame that, in my world, he was probably old enough to be my great-great grandfather four times over. Of course, I wouldn't dare tell him this.

"Of course you will," I said, "Same time, same place?"

The children agreed happily and dispersed after many farewells, leaving me to wander the village by myself. It was a quaint little place, right next to a river bank that I had not noticed before. I wondered where exactly I was now. Egypt? No, certainly not Egypt. Perhaps Jordan? I wasn't sure. I was definitely aware of how much cleaner the sky looked at night and how much cleaner the air smelled. It was certainly a different experience than what it was like in my real time.

I was sure it was not a good thing to run around the desert at night. It was already getting awfully cold, and I had the distinct feeling that someone was watching me. I reached down and pulled the hood of the uncomfortably stiff dress I was wearing up over my head. Initially, I had not known that there was a hood attached to my clothing until Caib thought it would be cute to hide a rock in it and pull the hood over my head, sending the rock down my back. I had to do a little dance to get it to fall to the ground, which all three of the children had enjoyed.

I walked to the edge of the village and came back to the bench that I had been sitting on earlier; it was now empty. A quick glance over my shoulder reassured me that I was alone, and I made to sit down.

Just before I could fully sit, I heard the distinct sound of something dropping heavily to the ground beside me. A pair of strong arms wrapped tightly around my middle and yanked me backward before I could even get a chance to turn around to see what it was. My back hit something solid and warm, a body, and a hand clamped tightly over my mouth; the strength of the grip kept me from turning my head. The tip of something cold and sharp poked against my throat, and I squeezed my eyes shut.

This was _not_ happening. There was _no way_ this was happening.

"Scream, and I will spill your blood before you have a chance to pray to your god to forgive you for your sins."

The voice was low, almost a whisper. It was harsh and cold, despite the hot breath against the side of my face.

"Do I have your word that you will not scream?"

I nodded into the hand, taking in the scent of leather and sandalwood. Whoever it was holding me hostage, he smelled nice. I felt the hand release my mouth, and I was roughly spun around and pushed against wall of the building, the edge of the bench digging into the back of my knees. I kept my eyes squeezed shut. One strong hand squeezed my shoulder tightly as another held a blade to my throat.

"Look at me," he growled. I kept my eyes shut. "_Look. At. Me._"

_Don't, Naomi,_ I told myself

"For the love of your god, look at me."

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes and looked up at him. He was tall, the top of my head just barely came up to just his chin, and he wore a tapered white robe trimmed in red cloth and brown leather. He wore a draping white hood that nearly covered his entire face, save for his strong, squared jaw line. The top of the hood came down at a point; it reminded me of that of an eagle's beak. One of his hands was pressing my shoulder into the wall. The other hand held a blade, which was actually attached to a metal bracer on his left wrist, to my throat. That blade glinted in the dim light, protruding from under his hand where his left ring finger, which was completely missing, was supposed to be.

I blinked, recognizing his clothing. He had been the same man that had sat next to me on the bench before I had gone to play with the children!

His body pressed roughly against mine, one of his knees digging between my thighs. He kept the blade against my throat, using his forearm to pin me against the wall. With his free hand, he dug into a pouch that hung around his middle. I gulped when he brought his hand up to my face. A tiny pouch dropped from his hand, dangling from horse-hair strings in front of my face. I immediately recognized it as the pouch that Naleh had used to carry around her treasure.

"Take a good look at it, woman," he growled, allowing me a few more moments to study it before quickly pocketing it again, and pressing harder against my body. I fought back a yelp, "Answer me honestly, or I will cut out your tongue and feed it to the swine. What do you know of these trinkets?"


	3. World of Memory

**World of Memory**

It was very, very hard to breathe.

_Is he suffocating me?_

"Out with it, woman! _What do you know of these trinkets?_"

His voice was placid, toneless. He held it under perfect control; it was infuriating how calm he was.

It took a lot to force anything through my mouth, "I… I…"

I felt the pressure of his forearm against my chest increase, and the world began to spin. A white, foggy haze, not unlike what I saw when I was first in the Animus, clouded my vision. I tried unsuccessfully to blink it away and swallowed hard. He gave my shoulders a rough shake, and the back of my head smacked the wall, hard. A dizzying pain rushed from the back of my skull to my forehead, and I very suddenly felt like I couldn't hold my head up.

I hadn't _really _felt the pain in my head, had I? I couldn't have. This was just a memory, and a very elaborate one at that; just like a dream that feels so real that the dreamer wakes up actually feeling the sensations he or she felt while dreaming.

He pushed his body harder against mine. I sagged along the wall against his weight until he was the only thing standing me on my feet.

"I don't know!" I managed, squeezing my eyes shut, "I don't know! Oh, God…"

"Your God cannot help you now," he growled, "_Tell me: what. Do. You. Know. Of. These. Trinkets?_"

"I told you!" Tears of desperation were stinging to the surface of my eyes, making it impossible to see; they left searing trails down my cheeks. I swallowed hard and choked back a sob, "I don't know! The girl had it, that's all I know!"

I felt one tear trail down my chin and onto the back of his hand. He leaned in closer, as though to get a better look at me, but still kept his grip on me.

"Remove your hood," he commanded. I whimpered, unable to move. He made a low growling noise in the back of his throat, and brought the blade that protruded from his wrist up to my face. I tried to shrink as far back into my hood as I could, as though it would offer some kind of protection, when the tip of the blade pointed straight at the bridge of my nose.

But instead of using it to impale my face, as I had thought he was going to, he used it to push my hood back. He was still for a moment, his face so close to mine I could smell his breath. It smelled sweet and smoky, like cloves.

"_Adha?"_

I sniffed, then frowned. It had taken me a moment to understand that he called me a name, and I was confused. Who was that? Suddenly, with grace I had never seen in a grown man before, he leapt away from me, the blade making the distinctive _shink_ sound as it disappeared into his bracer. He reached behind his back and unsheathed a _sword_, and pointed it straight at my heart.

"What game is this?" he snarled.

"What—" I began, but his hand whipped out and caught my mouth again, silencing me. He pressed his body against mine once again, however this time, it seemed like he was actually trying to _hide_ me, rather than _hold me hostage_. He stared off into the distance, as though listening for a sound that I had not heard. I wriggled against him, for which I received a harsh glare, or so I thought, before he went back to staring in the distance.

And then I heard what he was listening for: voices.

"Maayad is _demanding_ we find the rat that stole his apples."

"That dirty pig is _always_ demanding we find rats, and we _always_ never find them. I do not understand why we keep doing this. I have a woman at home with a warm pair of legs, and I am out here, searching for a rat who stole some apples."

I could hear the voices getting louder, and louder; they were headed in our direction. The man holding me against the wall tensed, his grip on my mouth tightening. I wriggled against him again and felt him push me harder against the wall. The two voices continued.

"We keep doing this because his money buys the silence of younger women with even _warmer_ legs," laughed the first voice. The second voice laughed with the first.

The voices kept getting louder. They were just around the corner of the building now, and the tension in the air was so thick that I felt like I could cut it with a knife. The man holding me captive seemed to be holding his breath, his eyes fixed on something I couldn't see.

The owners of the voices, which I recognized to be the two guards that had been chasing the thief earlier that day, came walking around the corner, both with their hands poised on swords. They were talking conversationally before they stopped and looked at us.

"You there!" one shouted, his voice suddenly menacing. I felt the man's grip on my mouth tighten, "You! What are you doing there?"

The man holding me captive was now staring at me, though I could not see his face below his hood. I could feel his eyes burning into my face, studying me, memorizing me. His grip slowly began to relax until he had finally let my face go, and his hand was slowly traveling down my front. I blushed when his fingers grazed the nape of my neck, between my breasts, and finally settling on my hips.

"I apologize, good men," he finally said, turning his head toward the guards. His voice sounded surprisingly pleasant. I was not sure what I was more afraid of: the blades he carried, or how quickly his voice could change from being so menacing to so earnest. "But this woman and I... we have just been married, and we thought we were… _alone_…" his eyes fell on me again. I shivered at the chilling difference between the pleasantness in his voice, and the iciness of his faceless stare.

I frowned, unsure of whether or not to take his hint to play along.

"That is very well, but surely you must—" The first guard stopped in mid-sentence as he stepped forward. Recognition flashed across his face, and he drew his sword.

"INFIDEL!" he shouted as the other shouted, "ASSASSIN!"

I had not even a second to react before the robed man grabbed my wrist and took off in the opposite direction of the guards. The ground, the buildings, the occasional tree all became a blur as we wound through the village's tiny gray buildings. I could barely hear the sound of the guards screaming and shouting from behind us. My legs felt like rubber as they pounded the ground, trying to keep up with the man with the iron grip on my wrist. A numbing feeling was slowly creeping up my legs, starting with my toes and feet. How was it possible for a man to run this fast? And how was it possible for me to keep up with him?

Thoughts had little time to become coherent as we began racing toward an enclosure. The guards' screams and shouts were far away, but still close enough that they would most likely catch up to us. I was roughly dragged over a crude fence and pulled toward a horse dozing in the center of the pasture. In an instant, I felt my body lift off the ground and I was thrown onto the horse's bare back. The robed man quickly climbed up behind me, his motions fluid, cat-like. I wondered how it was possible for him to move so smoothly. Both of his hands grabbed the horse's mane, and he kept his arms around me, preventing me from slipping down to get away.

The horse whinnied indignantly beneath us, rearing mercilessly. I instinctively clutched the horse's sides with my legs as tightly as I could manage, and scrambled to get a grip on the mane. The horse came back down, and did not rear up again. I wondered if it was because it wanted me to stop pulling on its hair. It paced to and fro in the pasture as the guards came into view. When they reached the fence, I felt the man behind me give the horse a hard kick, and we took off into the night.

In an instant, the guards' voices completely died, and the horse carried us into an unknown darkness.

* * *

_We found him, Ritchie!_

_I can't believe it..._

_On the first try! She found him on the _first_ try! This is _amazing_ progress!_

_Naomi, can you hear me?_

_Tomorrow, let's be sure to load up a new memory somewhat close to this one; we don't want her skipping crucial moments. You know how fast he disappears._

_Almost there, Naomi. You're almost there._

_Ritchie, can you believe it? We found him! We found him!_

_

* * *

  
_

I was vaguely aware of sunlight on my face, but was not sure if I wanted to open my eyes. The warmth of the sunlight against my skin made my forehead, nose, and cheeks prickle with sunburn. It was quickly coaxing sleepiness to drift away from me, like mist off the surface of a lake in the morning.

Had I been sleeping? When I had fallen asleep?

The last thing I had remembered was riding horseback for what felt like hours and hours before arriving at a city tucked into a vast mountain range. The horse had been stabled, and… what had happened to me afterward? I tried desperately to remember, but the only images that I could conjure were that of the robed man pouring a clear liquid onto a cloth, and holding it to my nose.

I had been drugged? I supposed I hadn't gone as quietly as he had wanted…

I opened my eyes. The first thing I was aware of was golden sunlight pouring through a tiny square window, illuminating all of the dancing dust particles as they drifted to the floor. Beneath the window was a large vase made out of clay. A scrap of cloth hung over the edge. I could tell the cloth had been used to clean something, as it was smudged with dirt.

The next thing I was aware of was that I was lying in a comfortable cot comprised of an assortment of large pillows. They were of many different colors, but all had a variety of patterns embroidered on them. The blanket covering me was made out of thin linen. It was a pale, dingy color, and there were a few stains on it, but I did not care much. All that mattered was that it was comfortable.

I slowly brought my arm out from under the blanket in order to touch the linen between my fingers, and stopped when I realized that I was no longer wearing the stiff potato sack dress anymore.

I slowly sat up and pushed the blanket off of me to find I was actually wearing a very large, very soft, man's shirt. Like the sheet covering me, it was also made out of linen, and it was so large on me that it actually could have been a strange sort of night gown if it weren't for the fact that it had the long, hood draping halfway down my back. The front of it only managed to cover me to halfway down my thighs, while the back of it seemed to flow down to my calves.

How strange.

More importantly though, I wasn't wearing anything underneath. This instantly put me on guard, and I quickly covered myself back up with the sheet and looked around. The walls and floor were all carved out of stone, all of them faded and dusty. The ceiling, also stone, came up in a dome shape. Wooden shelves filled with mostly miscellaneous objects (and very few books) lined the walls. In the far corner of the room was a large empty desk.

There was a small table beside my cot of pillows. A bowl of water, a scrap of cloth, and my hooded potato sack dress were neatly arranged on top of it.

"Ah, friend, I was wondering when you would wake."

The voice was cheerful, almost jubilant, and cut through the silent room so suddenly that I nearly screamed. In the doorway stood a young man wearing a dark cloak. He had very short, cropped dark hair, and a wide, crooked smile. His eyes were sparkling with obvious mischief.

I jumped, and was suddenly aware of a dull ache between my thighs. I had not been... _raped_... had I? The thought made me feel sick, and the only thing I could do was pull the blanket up to my face and curl up in a ball. I hoped the man in the doorway was not going to try anything stupid.

"Stay in the doorway," I told him quietly. My voice felt scratchy in my throat.

His jubilant expression faded, and he held a hand up and stepped backward into the doorway. I noticed one of his arms lying listlessly at his side. It took me a moment to realize that _the whole arm_ was missing.

"If that is what you wish," he brought his hand back down and leaned against the door frame, "Just know that I mean you no harm."

"What have you done to me? Where am I?" I snapped, suddenly feeling brave when I saw the man retreat back to the door.

He chuckled lightly, "I have done nothing more than dress your wounds and had one of the womenput you in one of the apprentice's robes. I wished we had something more suitable for you to wear, however we had nothing to spare. Lucky for you, our youngest apprentice, Halim, was more than willing to a robe for you to wear."

Despite my having told him to stay in the doorway, he stepped across the room and knelt beside my cot. He reached out, fingertips gingerly touching the bottom of my chin to tilt my face up to look at him. I could make out distinctive scars marring his features, but otherwise, he was quite handsome. He had a slightly round face that sported obvious five o'clock stubble, and his deep brown eyes were thoughtful and inquisitive, even when his thick brows were furrowed. He let go of my chin and made to touch my forehead, using his thumb to brush off some of my hair from my brow. I had to bite back the urge to jerk my head away from him.

"Don't touch me. I don't want anyone to touch me," I spat, glaring at him. Handsome or not, I did not trust this man. He obediently brought his hand back and stood. He took a few steps back and with his one arm, pulled out the wooden chair that sat behind the desk, and sat down.

"Altaïr is right," he said quietly, "You _could_ be her."

Why did that name sound familiar?

I could feel my skin writhe beneath his piercing stare, but did not look away from him.

"My name is Malik," he finally added, his voice conversational, "You need not tell me your name, now, although sooner or later Altaïr will want to know. He gets very… _spiteful_… when he does not have his way."

"Altaïr?"

"Our Master. He is the man who brought you here."

I instantly remembered the man in the white robes; the one with the hood drawn so far over his face that I couldn't see it, and a blade on his wrist. He had also been missing a finger. I gulped.

"And what does Altaïr want with me?"

The jubilant smirk on his face melted away, and was replaced with a look of sadness. He stood up, "That is better left for later conversation. You have spent nearly a full night and a full day riding horseback. That would be grueling on even the most experienced riders. I will have Nadirah fetch some fresh water for you."

His head gave a slight bow, and he quietly left the room.

It was like his words, followed by the sound of the door closing behind him, had jogged a memory that I otherwise could not have been able to recall on my own.

I could remember the sights and smells of a world I'd never seen first-hand before, where women wore long dresses and balanced clay pots on their heads; where thieves were commonplace, and were punished with the removal of their hands. It was a world where everyone traveled by horseback, and kings and emperors ruled their lands with an iron hand. It was a world torn by war, death, and plague. It was like the realization and knowledge had just come to me, and it scared me like nothing that had ever scared me before. I was remembering memories that I had never experienced for myself... at least, that's what it had felt like... and I was terrified of the memories that I had yet to remember.

This must have been how the Animus worked, filling in memories that I had skipped in order to keep me from being confused later.

Damn, that machine was pretty smart.

The door opened, and a lithe young woman walked in. She was wrapped in a very thin, almost transparent, draping silk gown. I could easily see her body through the thin material. She had a dark beauty mark right between her breasts, and her legs were sculpted and toned; it was obvious she was a dancer, or perhaps an entertainer.

She bowed in the doorway. Between her long hands, she balanced a large clay plate. There was a small clay jug on it, as well as what looked like a bowl of mash that reminded me of my mother's homemade grits.

"Hello," she said quietly. Her voice was soft, but cautious. In a way, it was also soothing. I uncoiled from my ball and pulled the blanket up to my chin.

"Hi."

"I have brought you something to eat and drink. Where do you wish for me to put this?"

I swallowed and patted a pillow next to me. Obediently, the young woman came to my cot and knelt down, gently lowering the plate onto the pillow. I watched her carefully as she stood and took a few steps backwards, folding her hands before her.

"Eat."

There was a crude object cut out of wood that resembled a spoon. I carefully took a bite of the beige-colored mash in the bowl. It was magnificent, though I could not quite place my finger exactly on what it tasted like. I wolfed the food down, feeling like I hadn't eaten in days. My mind was instantly flooded with even more memories: full days of sitting in the middle of the market, waiting for someone to drop a loaf of bread, my mouth watering as the guards greedily tore into large portions of lamb while they paced the village streets, my stomach growling as the horse I rode trudged on through the desert. My ancestor had been a beggar, that much I knew.

It did not take long for me to eat and drink everything that the woman had put in front of me. She took the large plate and put it on the desk before sitting on her knees beside my cot.

"My name is Nadirah," she said.

"I'm Naomi."

She frowned, then sighed sadly. She almost looked like a child who had found out that Santa Claus had not brought her what she had wanted for Christmas.

"Altaïr was wrong."

"What?"

She leaned forward and touched the tips of her finger to my hair, brushing it away from my face. I imagined I must have looked like a mess. She didn't seem to notice, "When Altaïr brought you here, he claimed he had found my sister." As she studied me, she bit the side of her lip in a funny way that reminded me of Cher Horowitz from _Clueless_, "My God, you look just like her," she paused, "but you claim to have a different name! What have the Templars done to you?"

I was so confused. The Templars? I thought they had been the _good_ guys during the Crusades; protecting the masses, stealing from the rich, giving to the poor. Or something like that. I was a major in _classical_ history, not _medieval_ history...

My face must have shown my confusion, because Nadirah sighed and rubbed her face with her hands.

"Your…I mean, my sister's… Adha. Her name is Adha."

_Adha?_

That must have been why the robed man had called me by that name.

"Adha," I said it carefully, trying to see if it would jog another memory that was not mine. It didn't. "That's a beautiful name."

"She was a beautiful woman," Nadirah said sadly, her eyes trailing to the stone floor. "The Templars took her a few years ago. We have been looking for her for a long time…"

The door opened, and I felt my heart leap into my throat in a very sickening way as the familiar white robes whisked into the room. Nadirah immediately stood, her hands folded before her, and she gave a little bow to the man who had walked in.

"Nadirah," he greeted. His voice was cold, toneless, just like before. How could he be so calm?

"Altaïr," she greeted back, looking at the floor.

"You may look at me, Nadirah," he said quietly, "I do not rule my assassins with the same stinging punishments as Al Mualim had."

She hesitated before looking up at him, her dark, wavy hair nearly hiding her entire face.

"Yes, Altaïr."

"You may leave," he said. Nadirah glanced at me, and I silently pleaded for her to stay. I did not want to stay by myself with the knife-wielding man that had no face. But even if she saw my pleas, she did not listen to them. Instead, she quietly stepped out, and an uncomfortable silence fell over the room. I instinctively curled back into my ball, and waited.

Altaïr stood in the doorway, his stance proud. It was the first time I got a clear look at him in the sunlight, although it was still hard to see his face. His robes looked as though they had been washed and parched, and his hand was free of his metal bracer. His fingers were loosely flexing and relaxing, and I could see the gap between his middle finger and pinky where his ring finger was missing. He was wearing a pair of dark brown boots and gray trousers beneath his robes. Though his bracer-dagger and his sword were absent, he still wore a collection of tiny daggers sheathed along his middle. They glinted in the sunlight pouring in through the tiny window. One of his hands came to rest on the hilt of one of those daggers, and the fingers drummed along the exposed handle.

"I do not hesitate to tell anyone of my abilities in the art of death," he said. His voice never wavered, never faltered. It was still calm, still toneless. I felt the traces of fear shiver up my spine, "These blades are a part of me; they are a part of my body. Against wind, rain, and dust, they never miss their target. So... _do not _think you will be lucky and that I will miss you, should you say something I do not like."

He began stepping forward. The shivering in my spine was getting worse. My feet and legs were shaking. I could feel my fingers prickling uncomfortably, and my body was beginning to feel weak.

_It's just a memory, it's just a memory. He can't really hurt you..._

He came to the front of the desk and leaned against it, folding his arms. He was careful to not hide the daggers, and I was careful to not stop staring at them.

"I will ask you questions. I expect your answers. Should I think you are lying, you will _not_ walk out of this chamber alive." He cleared his throat, "Am I understood?"

I nodded. The daggers were hypnotizing. I couldn't stop staring at them.

"What is your name?"

"N-Naomi," I managed. It took a great deal of effort to push the word from my throat. Even with all the effort, I felt as though I could not speak properly.

"Slower."

"Nay-Oh-Mee."

He stared at me for a moment, "Naomi. That is not a normal name," he pulled a dagger from its sheath and inspected it, effortlessly twirling it in his fingers. I felt cold sweat beading above my upper lip. He glanced at me over the edge of the blade. At least, I thought he did. I still could not quite see his face. "Naomi," he said again, sheathing the blade and crossing his arms again, "Can you tell me what you were doing walking around Jadabar so late at night, Naomi?"

I swallowed, "I was looking for a place to sit."

"You do not have a home?"

"No," I shook my head, "I've traveled from… very far away."

It must have sounded convincing, because his hood tilted to the side, as though he were tilting his head.

"So you come to a trade village you do not know and converse with children you have never met before," he paused. I wasn't sure whether I was to answer him or not. He reached into a bag and pulled out Naleh's little horse-hair pouch. I could hear her dirty, tarnished trinkets tinkling inside. "And you do not know anything of these trinkets?"

I shook my head, "I don't know anything about them. Naleh, the girl, had them and wished to bury them, and so I helped her do it."

"Why would she want to bury them?"

"I don't know," I felt a little brave, and I squared my shoulders. I was not going to drag the children into this if I could help it, "It was just a child's game. I figured that they would just dig them back up when they wanted them again."

He glanced down at the little pouch and pocketed it, crossing his arms again.

"And you say your name is Naomi?"

"Yes."

"And you know my name?"

"It's Altaïr. Both Nadirah and Malik have told me so."

"And do you know where you currently are?"

"No."

"Do you know who Adha is?"

"No."

"Then why do you look like her?"

"I don't…. I don't know. Do I look like her?"

"Who are you?"

"I'm Naomi."

"_Who are you?"_

"_I told you, I'm Naomi!"_

"_WHO. ARE. YOU?"_

He suddenly leapt toward me, landing quietly on the cot and staring straight into my face. In his quick movement, his hood flew backward, revealing his face.

I felt my breath catch, and the world around me seemed to freeze in place.

He was unbelievably _beautiful_. He had a narrow, strong face, and his hair was cropped very short; I knew that it would feel soft beneath my fingertips, should I have run my fingers through it. His eyes were a light, caramel-brown sort of color, which made them look even harder and more determined than they already were. They glared at me from beneath a pair of thick eyebrows. His jaw was squared, dusted with days-old stubble. A thin scar ran down the side of his mouth, marring both his upper and lower lips. He was cold, toneless, heartless, just like his voice; but, my God, he was so _beautiful_.

And in that instantaneous moment of taking in his beauty, I felt a very strange thing happen to me.

It was a rush like I'd never felt before; of a world of memories that I had definitely _not_ experienced first-hand, washed through me. They left my skin crawling with a tingling sensation I hadn't felt in ages.

_1._

"_You are so beautiful_,_" the husky, daring voice whispered down my neck, sending prickling goosebumps down my body. His voice. It left my fingers, my toes, and my spine all tingling with desire..._

_2._

"_You do not know what your body does to this man..." he growled into my ear. He, in turn, must not have known what _his_ did to me. His chapped lips kissed along my collar. How could he not know? God, how I wanted him..._

_3._

"_I will return to you when the mission is over, when dawn breaks. And then... you're mine…" his hands trailed down my naked sides, and I fought the urge to giggle._

_4._

"_Altaïr," all I can do was giggle, and his lips quickly stifled my giggling with a searing kiss. I could hear an amused chuckle in his throat, which was quickly cut short as he pulled his lips away from mine and moaned against my cheek. My heart leaped. Did he not know how wonderful his body felt? "Love..."_

_5._

_"I heard a rumor you were killed," I managed between hungry kisses, feeling his arms wrap tightly around me. The smell of sandalwood, leather, and sweat enveloped us, and I ran my fingers through his hair. He grabbed my face between his hands and kissed me._

_"I'm here."_

_He had been riding through the desert, I could tell by how chapped his lips were. They danced along my mouth and trailed down my neck. I closed my eyes, relishing the feeling of him. His tongue against my skin felt so… _delicious...

_"I've missed you."_

_6._

"_Why must you keep doing this, Altaïr?" I screamed, hurling a clay bowl against the wall. It shattered, scattering along the ground. My face and ears were hot with anger. I could feel the tears in my eyes spilling down my cheeks and down my neck. _

_He appeared unfazed, calmly narrowing his eyes at me. I flung another bowl at the wall, the clattering sound was satisfying._

_"Why must you keep doing this?"_

_7._

"_Stop being ridiculous, Adha. You know I cannot leave," his voice was stern, cold, "I am the best, in both skill, and in rank. I cannot just… leave!"_

_8._

_"Why do you scream at me?" his voice was toneless, emotionless. I had never heard him so... empty... before. What had he become? Where had my Altaïr gone?_

To hell with it,_ I decided,_ I would just tell him what I want and be done with it!

"_I want_ children_, Altaïr! I want sons and daughters. I want to feel them in my womb, and in my arms. I want to watch them grow into adults. I want to watch them marry, and have wealth, and have children of their own. But I do not want to do it in this world of shadows, blades, and death!"_

_"Then why fall in love with me, with this _assassin_, if you wish to not raise a family in such a world?"_

_9._

"_This will be my last mission, Adha. My last." he took my face in his hands and planted a passionate kiss on my lips. I could not bring myself to feel anything. The flame of passion had flickered out, and was gone, like the lives he took from all of those men, "I promise it will be my last."_

_Promises, promises. When had he ever kept his promises?_

_10._

_My ears were hot again, and there were tears on my face. The ground was harsh beneath my feet. I glanced back at the mountain fortress at my back, listening to the early-morning stirring of the village. _

_He'll never know…_

"I'm..." I started, closing my eyes.

_I'm Adha! My Love, it's me! _

"I'm_ Naomi._" I managed. "I'm Naomi. I'm very sorry, but I do not know who _'Adha'_ is..."

It had been so hard to force my real name out, but for the life of me, I could not understand why. It was as though my body was on autopilot, and my mind was just along for the ride.

Damn the Animus. Damn that machine.

I gulped, trying to make sense of the new emotions coursing through me. They felt strange and synthesized; they were not mine, they were the Animus's, and I did not want them.

Altaïr blinked, his brow furrowing even tighter and his eyes piercing me. His nostrils flared slightly, and his lips twitched He squared his jaw, which caused him to grind his teeth, and he exhaled sharply through his nose. With catlike grace, he leapt away from me, his robes billowing around him.

He stood in the center of the room for a moment, his stance no longer proud, but defeated. His hood was still down, and he was still staring at me, reading my face.

I blinked, and he was gone. Not even the smell of sandalwood and leather lingered behind him.

I glanced around the room, at first thinking that he had just moved to a new spot and I hadn't noticed. I sagged back into the pillows, feeling my body relax finally. I felt like I had been tensed up for hours, even though the encounter had lasted only a few seconds. I released the blankets bunched in my fists, not realizing I had been clutching them with every essence of my being.

"What's happening to me...?" I whispered to myself.

Blue-white fog began to take over my vision. It was almost negligible at first, almost like I had been looking into a light for far too long; but soon my vision was overcome with it. It was dizzying, disorienting, but I knew it was the Animus, and that fact was enough to bring a little relief.

Ritchie was finally pulling me out of the memory.

I wanted nothing more than to be out of it.

* * *

_Don't you understand? We're closer than ever before!_

…_But we're not there, yet! We're close. But we're not there yet. Let's not be too quick to celebrate…_

_She'll get what we need. And when she does, she'll catch him. Desmond can't keep hiding him forever._


End file.
